


It's Not The Fall, It's The Landing

by EchoSilverWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Confused John, Dialogue Heavy, Emotions, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Johnlock Roulette, Love Confessions, M/M, Nervous Sherlock, No Mary Morstan, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock is actually a bit romantic, St Bartholomew's Hospital, in his own way, rooftop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/pseuds/EchoSilverWolf
Summary: John charges up the last set of stairs leading to the roof, mobile still in hand, its last text fueling his panic.Meet me. Rooftop. St Bart’s. -SH





	It's Not The Fall, It's The Landing

John charges up the last set of stairs leading to the roof, mobile still in hand, its last text fueling his panic.

_ Meet me. Rooftop. St Bart’s. -SH _

If this is some kind of joke, he may throttle the man, but the burning scar of a memory has him taking steps two and three at a time, and nearly kicking down the door, to burst out into the cool morning air.

The tall figure of his flatmate, back toward him, is standing far too close to the edge for comfort.

Unsure why they are up here, he approaches cautiously, heart hammering in his chest,  as he watches Sherlock’s coat flutter around him in the breeze.

“Sherlock...what are you...?” he starts, hating the obvious hitch in his voice.

Sherlock doesn’t turn when he speaks, and his voice is also a bit shaky.

“John...There is something...I need to…”

“Please Sherlock, look at me? Whatever this is...just...don’t? Ok? Don’t...just...talk to me?”

"I am endeavoring to, John...please...it’s not...not what you think. I would never do that to you again.”

“Why are we up here?”

“It had to be here, John.”

“What? What has to be here?” He asks, taking a few deep breaths, and a couple careful steps, toward his friend.

Sherlock turns, a soft smile on his lips, but something else entirely in his eyes.

“There are things I need to say, John, if you let me. The sort of things in which I am not well versed.”

John’s fists are clenched tightly at his sides, but he stays silent, giving a small nod of acceptance.

Sherlock spreads his arms, gesturing downward.

“It had to be here...because this is where we met. You and I. Where we started. Downstairs. When you offered your phone. Our beginning.”

He takes a shaky breath, as he gesticulates outward. “And here, up here, this is where we...ended. Where I had to let you go. I never wanted that, but I would do it again without a second thought. I would have gladly hit the pavement for real to keep you safe.”

John opens his mouth to speak but Sherlock begins again before he can utter a word.

“I am failing at this, I apologize. But you see? This building? It is  _ part of us _ , part of our story. From the basement to the rooftop, and countless times somewhere in the middle being patched up at one point or another. This is our story. And why it had to be here.

You are, at heart, a romantic, John, and I hope you will see the sentiment involved by doing this here.”

“Doing what, Sherlock?” he questions, hesitantly, hands still fisted but nails no longer digging into his palms.

Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this.

Sherlock looks at the ground nervously for a moment before going on.

“I may have jumped from this rooftop, John, but I was falling long before that…and I am falling still.”

“I don’t understand.”

“John...this is where I broke your heart.”

John’s eyes go wide, but he doesn’t deny it, just stays quiet, allowing Sherlock to continue.

“It is quite likely that this is also where you will break mine.” He stops, eyes meeting John’s and holding his gaze. “This is the hardest thing I have ever done, but it had to be here, where it began...and where it ended. Where I started falling, and where I fell.”

John can see he is struggling, and takes a step forward at the same time Sherlock blurts out quickly, “I love you, John Watson, from the basement, to the roof. From here in London, through a tour of European Hell, and back again - through it all...I am...I have been...irrevocably in love...with you.”

His eyes dart back to the pavement on those last words, and John is left speechless. Did he really just...Self-proclaimed sociopath, sentiment is abhorrent, love is a disadvantage Sherlock Holmes had really just...said  _ that?  _ All of that? To  _ him _ ?

Sherlock’s eyes are still downcast as he shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other, looking like nothing more than a lost child.

“I do not expect anything from you, John. Just...do not leave?” he pleads quietly to the ground.

The silence is deafening, and Sherlock refuses to look up, can’t bear to see John inevitably turn heel and head back the way he came.

But then, John exhales shakily and barely whispers, “How could you possibly think I would leave you? After all we’ve been through...after...losing you once before...after all this time. How is it you still can’t see that…”

“John, please? I am fully capable of going on as we were…”

“You might be, but I’m not, Sherlock...I - I can’t...not now, now that I know how you...how could you even  _ expect _ me to, when I…”

To his embarrassment, Sherlock’s voice cracks just enough to be noticeable, as he interjects, “It needed to be said, John. I really do not wish to be pitied, or mollycoddled - I just…had to say it. I needed you to know. I am aware you are not...that we could not be…”

And John moves, closes the gap between them - like he is closing the distance that had settled between them from the night Sherlock came back - like he is closing a distance that never belonged there. Stopping only when their shoes touch.

“Look at me, Sherlock.” It is not a request; it is an order, and Sherlock obeys.

“I mean it, really look at me and tell me you can’t see? How could you not...brilliant, genius detective that you are, how have you  _ never _ seen it?”

He can’t though; whatever it is John thinks he should see, he can’t. He panics at that thought, wants nothing more than to bolt - but there is no way to run. John stands between him and the stairwell, the edge of Bart’s and enough regret for a lifetime at his back.

The sound of a shuddered breath brings him back to the present.

John, whose hands are clenched at his sides, but whose eyes are blinking back an undisguisable wetness. Always a living contradiction.

“You really have no idea, do you?” John’s voice seems way too small - quivering and vulnerable, “That I have been gone on you since the start?”

Sherlock blinks, repeatedly.

This was not...he didn’t think... _ how did he not see it? _

Lost in his thoughts, he takes a faltered step back and John’s eyes immediately flash with fear, his hand instinctively darting out to grasp Sherlock’s to keep him from retreating any closer to the ledge behind him. Fingers curling and squeezing protectively around his friend’s longer ones.

Sherlock’s gaze locks onto their joined hands. John’s skin on his.

“So...in fact...you...you also…”

John's hand tugs him forward. Away from the edge...closer to himself.

Deep indigo eyes never leave his.

“Have done, for ages,” and John smiles, in a way Sherlock hasn't seen in so long - and Sherlock steps further into his space, lifting a hand tentatively to trace that smile with the pad of his thumb, before dropping his hand back to his side. Still half expecting John to pull away. To spook. To announce again that he is in fact,  _ not gay. _

As if reading his thoughts, John replies, “I'm not, you know...but....there  _ are _ more than two options.”

“Always something,” Sherlock answers with a timid smile of his own.

The moment is heavy with uncertainty before John laughs nervously.

“So...we are both complete idiots, then?”

“It would seem so.”

John’s hand, still firmly wrapped around his own, is tugging again, and Sherlock allows himself to be pulled forward against John’s chest.

“What happens now?” John tilts his head up to meet his eyes, his voice is barely a ghosting of air against Sherlock’s face

“I should think...maybe...something like this?” Before he can overthink the moment, he leans in to press his mouth firmly onto John’s.

And it is joy and sorrow, loss and hope, pain and redemption. It is hands moving into hair, arms wrapping around waists and necks; it is lips and tongues and teeth - small noises and ragged breaths. It is then and it is now. It is  _ love. _ And it is everything.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Betaed by EnglandWouldFallJohn**
> 
> *With some lovely help from sparklinglights*


End file.
